


Broken

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gay Sex, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Insecurity, M/M, POV First Person, Reborn - Freeform, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: After being reborn, and preparing for Dagor Dagorath, Fëanor discovers something unthinkable. Old songs lie: Thorondor didn't rescue the High King's body. In fact, Fingolfin did not die in his fight against Morgoth: instead, he was taken to Angband and held prisoner for thousands of years.Once they meet again, both brothers will have to deal with old feelings, grudges, betrayals, regrets ... and something that has never left them, lust.Or, more simply, Fingolfin only wants Fëanor to fuck him hard and without mercy while Fëanor wants to talk about love.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Quenya:  
> * elenya: my star.  
> * narya: my flame.

Pain. Old acquaintance. The only thing that binds me to who I was, to whom I will never be again. I sink my fingers into the sheet, crumpling it into my clenched fists... and I feel. A chill runs through my skin, my back, the root of my hair ... I tighten my jaws so I do not scream and his finger attacks me mercilessly as his mouth runs down my back, my thighs, my buttocks ... I feel his other hand explore my tense body, looking for my sex, which - despite everything - responds. His teeth sink into my skin, his tongue presses, his mouth sucks ... Tomorrow there will be a mark there; but it does not matter. Nothing matters anymore.

 

I bite my tongue to drown a curse when he penetrates me with two fingers. I listen to his avid gasps and feel the weight of his body on my back.

 

“My beauty”, he whispers in Quenya, biting my shoulder, licking the marked flesh on the ribs, where Thorondor nailed his claws thousands of years ago.

 

It’s that sound what sends a wave of heat to my testicles. Not yet, I order in my mind and resort to the tricks I learned in Angband, before the defeat, before breaking me. Or maybe it was later, when I finally convinced myself that there was no possible escape, that there would not be a soul friend to rescue me, or eagles descending from the heavens of Manwë to save me. Tricks that made me the favorite toy of the Dark Master of the World. And his henchmen.

 

Three fingers. I feel the knuckles tense my entrance, reliving sensations of which I thought I was free when I only served as a source of energy, when my captors cared only for my soul and not my body. Possession slips more easily - lubricated by the saliva that his tongue spreads between my buttocks, in his own fingers - and hits my prostate in an unnerving rhythm. By this time, anyone else would be screaming in ecstasy and ejaculating in the rumpled sheets. Three ages ago, with Macalaurë's fingers inside me, "I" would be moaning in full orgasm. Laughter threatens to curve my mouth: with much less, Atarinkë would be writhing in my hands, howling with need.

 

“You like it?”

 

Again the Quenya caresses my ear. Pure Quenya. The language of Tirion, of Finwë Noldóran, of Míriel Þerindë ... He speaks it with the accent of the first Noldor and I let out a moan in reward for his efforts. I hear him growl as he increases the attacks and the pain electrifies me again.

 

 

_"Do you like it?" Murmurs his voice in my memory, and again I am a teenager contemplating my own image in marble, in Nerdanel's workshop in Formenos. "It's my gift to you." And, in spite of my naiveté, at that moment I already know that he refers to the exquisite, lustful jewels that adorn the sculpture; but I ask, "Did you make me a statue?" "The statue is mine," he replies fiercely as his hand travels down my torso to get under my hose and hold on to my half-hard sex. "If only I could also have ... this," he whispers in my ear, pushing his erection against my ass, caressing me with his calloused palm, pressing my heavy testicles, kissing and nipping at my neck, responding to my moans with violent gasps that get lost in my loose hair. For a few minutes - the time that he convulsively agitated against me -, *my brother* loves me._

 

 

Emptiness brings me back to the present. My sphincter throbs hungry and I push back when his hands open me to offer me his tongue. For a moment, I have the feeling that he could devour me - so savagely he sucks and licks at my entrance - and I remember the coldness of Sauron's forked tongue. The disgust twists my insides: disgust of me, of him, of my bro ... half -brother. I should tell him. Tell him that whatever he does to me, *he* did it a hundred, a thousand ... a million times. Tell him that *he* made me sit on his lap and move on his erection, again and again, up and down -always looking at those damn stones. And at that moment, it was not Melkor whom I hated. How could I hate the one who gave me some relief? Some pleasure? What I hated was that the only light in my darkness came from *his* damned stones. I want to scream. Screaming with rage for all the years I kept silent, while repeating to me that it was pride. I was the proud High King of the proud Noldor. I had challenged the Dark God ... and I had failed.

 

They said that I had died in combat, that the King of the Eagles had rescued my corpse and taken it to Gondolin. Lies. Pure and hypocritical lies to keep hope. Melkor did not break my body then. Because my body was just a nice ornament. And at the beginning, I gave thanks. Thanks for the fact that he - my proud brother - had not suffered my fate: tied to the throne of the Dark God, the murderer of my father, my son, my brother; tied to his table; tied to the colt of tortures; _tied to his bed_. And when Melkor was fed up with my flesh, he threw me to his servants, the Valaraukos who later cut the body of my son - my beloved son, whose name I forgot in the darkness of Angband so as not to howl it. Sauron always waited. He waited for everyone to get fed up, for my skin to hang in shreds of my body, for blood and semen to dry on my face, on my thighs, on my back -and then he carried me in his arms, _like a lover_ , and he healed me. He spent whole hours healing my wounds -until Valinor’s beauty showed on me once again. With tenderness. With sweetness. And I hated that false hope even more... because once he had done his work, Sauron took his payment -and everything started again. And so -for thousands of years.

 

He turns me almost delicately and I'm about to laugh in his face when I find those obsidian eyes darkened by the dilated pupils. Before pushing me to the pillows, he puts an arm around my waist and grabs me by the chin to kiss me slowly. His tongue slides in my mouth, moving sinuously... and to my regret I cling to that voluptuous softness. His tongue envelops mine, runs through my palate, pushes until it almost touches my throat... As soon as I advance my tongue, he catches it with his teeth and sucks furiously, moving to stick his naked body to mine. I open my legs and instinctively, his cock fits between my thighs, under my scrotum, and I feel it burning, hard ... threatening.

I want it inside me. I delight in the thick length that promises pain -much more pain than pleasure. But again his hands are on my butt, massaging my buttocks in the same cadence that his mouth gives me breath.

 

“Now”, I bark, digging my fingers into his hips.

 

For a second, he throws his head back, enjoying the pressure of my thighs on his phallus. However, he immediately controls himself and kisses me again as he slides those damn fingers to rub my entrance.

 

“I want you to enjoy it as much as I do”, he declares hoarsely.  
“Then, take me now”, I order. “Hard. Take me as hard as you can.” I let the smile finally push my lips. “If you can.”

 

His eyes are flashing. His young wolf teeth threaten me.

 

I gasp in his mouth when I hit the pillows, not in pain; but anticipation.

 

I cry.

 

Now I cry. I cry when the attack takes half of his cock inside me. For a second, I want to push him, free me from the pain that burns my insides. With an effort, I breathe trying to calm down and I cling to the sheet underneath me until my nails sink into my palms.

 

Through the fog of suffering, I perceive his hesitation. He wants to retire, take care of me, avoid more pain - is not that ironic?-the only time I ask him to make me suffer -and he wants to play the big brother! But at the same time he shudders with the desire to move inside me. I experience his shudders as he tries to control himself and without stopping observing him through my eyelashes, I make a circular movement with my hips, digging a little more into his cock. He emits a choked noise.

 

“Nolvo!” moans. “Don’t…”  
“Everything, Curufinwë”, I demand, showing him teeth fiercely. “I want your whole cock inside of me. And you want it too. Fuck me -fuck me hard ...”

 

He moans something similar to an apology - how decent he is when he wants! - and he propels himself in me, sinking more of that glorious column of flesh and fire that burns my arse. My sex trembles when the current of pain is unleashed on my nerves. Oh hell, this is... exquisite!

It hurts. Each attack brings more pain and ecstasy begins to build in my head, in my belly, in my testicles. Oh dear, I love him. I love the pain that his cock gives me tensing up to the unthinkable. I love the sting on my shoulder when he bites almost rabid. I love the weight of his body that elevates my hips and presses my penis between our bellies. I raise my hands above my head and cling to the bars of the bed.

 

“Touch me”, he begs without lashing the thrusts. “Show me that you like it, Nolofinwë.”

 

I hold on to the irons more tightly and arch myself to evade his mouth. Tricks. I will not be vulnerable to you again, Fëanáro Þerindion.

 

“You could ... do it ... better”, I pant between lunges. _"He did it better. “_

 

I'm afraid he can see the lie in my words. When he savages me, roaring, I'm not sure if it's Melkor he hates or me. I laugh, waving in his possession, arching to entangle my legs in his thighs and draw him to me. He moans, desperate, his attacks going erratic, his arms trembling with the effort of restraining himself. He is about to come and I laugh again almost against his mouth. I stick out my tongue and draw his lips.

 

“What's wrong, Curufinwë?” I whisper. “Have you reached your limit? So soon? Sauron kept me for hours. Gothmog could fuck me up to five times without cumming. And Morgoth -ah, Melkorë!” I use the name he forced me to give him in Angband. “The Master made me cum again and again impaled on his cock ...”

“Shut up!” He roars, grabbing my hair to pull back as he possesses me with the desperate rage with which he once uttered his oath. “You're a fucking whore, Nolofinwë. How can you…?” A scream escapes those sensual lips and he kisses me, brutal, making me bleed with his teeth.  
“Are you sick of me, Curufinwë?” I challenge him, already unable to move even to follow the frantic step of his hips. “Are you disgusted to be fucking the whore of ...?”  
“My whore!” He grunts like an animal, showing teeth. “My whore, Nolofinwë. You. Are. My. Whore. Only I -I have the right to your body, your ass ... to you. You are mine. My own. Mine.”

 

Yours. Yours, Curufinwë. Yours, Fëanáro. I've waited a lifetime to hear those words.

 

I cum with an inarticulate scream. The semen pours generously into my belly as Fëanáro's body continues to collide with mine, spreading the fluid between us. I am blind and deaf, only sensitive to the battering ram that crosses me, getting up from the bed, tirelessly hitting my prostate, replicating the ecstasy until my ass flashes around his cock, hungry.

 

I feel the first shot baptize my insides. Fëanáro arches before pouncing on me and kissing me frantically while pushing on the throbbing rings of my sphincter.

 

“Harlot”, he murmurs in my skin, under the jaw, moving in slow circles and I'm almost sure he still ejaculates. “Bitch. You are my whore. This is your real place: under me, begging me to fuck you, screaming that you're mine. Say it. Say who is your owner.”  
“You.”  
“Say my name.” He orders me and I understand surprised that he is still hard inside me, and now more than pain, there is only the burning of the fire burning the walls of my body, torn and stinging.  
“You are my owner, Curufinwë.” I essay, meekly. I get a violent slap that makes my head buzz.  
“My name, son of Indis.”  
“You are ... my owner ... Fëanáro.”  
“Oh yes!” he exhale with narrowed eyes and I perceive how the pleasure is reconstructed in me. “Say who fills you.”  
“You, Fëanáro.”  
“Say who satisfies you.”  
“You, Fëanáro”, I urge myself to follow the rotating movements of the lower part of his body.  
“Yesss, Eru! Say which is your place, Nolofinwë.”  
“Below you, Fëanáro. Dominated by you. To you subjected.”  
“Yes, my love, what a delight. You're still so tight”, he admires and I'm back on the edge. My vision darkens and I barely hear. “Say whose you are.”  
“Yours.”  
“What are you?”  
“Your whore!” I howl when the world explodes in a white, delicious light.

 

 

His kisses bring me back to consciousness. I am pressed against his body and Fëanáro kisses my face and my hair as he crosses one leg over me to not let me go.

 

“You're back”, he smiles, mischievous, and his expression reminds me of Findekano. “I thought that I would have to content myself with your inert body.”

 

I blink, stunned, and I look away from those beautiful features. I feel the shame rising inside me. Oh Eru! Did I really tell my half-brother that I was his whore? When I thought that I could not fall lower than how much I descended in Angband ...

 

The wet climb in my throat towards my ear pulls me away from my self-pity and Fëanáro sits against me, rubbing his crotch at the angle of my hip, as if he mounted me.

 

“I want to have you again”, he murmurs while licking and biting my ear, pulling the lobe with the tips of his teeth.  
“What?” I’m babbling, idiotized by the sensation of his tongue running the turns and the curve of my ear, his warm breath playing with the top tip.

 

I do not need his answer when I perceive the hard pressure on my thigh. His cock is hot and stiff again. Hell, how many hours were I unconscious?

 

“I’ll fuck you slowly”, he announces, moving sinuously against my side, uttering low moans that bristle my skin. “I'm going to kiss you all over, Nolvo -to put this rich cock in my mouth ...” He walks me with the tips of my fingers and I let out a hiss: I had no idea being so hard. “Mhm ... I'm gonna lick you and push you to my throat. I'm going to suck you gently... until you come on my tongue -and I'm going to swallow your seed, my love.”

 

I groan, arching and he takes the chance to surround my member with his whole hand, almost -oh yes, cruelly. What the hell did Námo do to return him to material form even with the calluses on his palms? Memories swirl in my chest and my head. There was a time when it was common to feel his hands on my body, I knew every hardness of his fingers -and I rejoiced in it. It was not right. The way he and I touched each other -it was not correct; but it was the only thing my brother offered -and for that, I craved it. With all my blood. As now I crave his contact, his rudeness a while before. I understand the irony of the situation: when I longed for his love, Fëanáro only had feverish sessions of clandestine sex for me ... and now, that I just want him to fuck me until I cannot feel my own breathing, he is considering being tender!

 

Laughter explodes on my lips before I can avoid it and Fëanáro turns away to observe me with a frown.

 

“What's so funny, Nolofinwë?” growled between teeth.  
“I do not want your tenderness”, I release without thinking, the old rebellion tingling under my skin. “I do not want you to treat me like a trembling maiden you just seduced.”  
“I'm not ...”  
“I don’t want your affection” , I interrupt him, pushing him away from me. I've always been taller and more muscular, so getting rid of his weight is easier than I thought. I jump out of bed, ignoring the guttural sound that comes from his throat when I walk naked to the open window. “I don’t want you to take care of me. I don’t want your compassion.”  
“Come back here.” He orders with a tense voice and I guess he struggles to contain his emotions, like the time he surprised me with that girl in the gallery. “It's freezing out there and you should not be getting the cold night air ...”  
“I am not your damned son, Curufinwë”, I roar, turning to him with all the rage of twenty thousand years of contention. “I am the damned High King of the damned Noldor” I perceive the twinkle in his eyes of liquid silver. “I faced Morgoth Bauglir and endured millennia of torture ...”  
“Don’t…”  
“I don’t need your care.” I insist, without wanting to see the pain that darkens his features. “I didn’t have it before, what would it be for me now? Everything that could be broken in me is already broken.”  
“Nolvo ...”  
“Don’t call me that way! My name is Fingolfin”, I reply harshly, clinging to what kept me sane in Angband.

 

They were centuries, millennia ... repeating the same chant: "I am Nolofinwë Finwion. I am Arakano Indisirion. I am the son of Finwë and Indis, the brother of Curufinwë Spirit of Fire, the husband of Anairë, the father of Findekáno, Turukáno, Irissë and Arakáno. I am the Supreme King of the Noldor. I'm Fingolfin. " Until the words lost meaning, and my own identity was diluted in the crack of the whip, in the blades that tore my flesh, in the needles that sensitized my sex ...

 

I realize that he blinks, confused and I think that for the first time he understands that I will never be the child who loved him in Tirion.

 

“Are you denying your name, Nolofinwë?” he inquires with severity. I know he tries to hurt me, to embarrass me -I contain the mocking laugh.  
“As much as you renounced me as your brother.”

 

He stands on his knees on the bed, and inevitably my eyes slide to his sex. It’s beautiful. Curufinwë Fëanáro is the most beautiful - and exciting - creature I have ever seen. In spite of everything that happened between us, of his hate for no reason, of his hand holding a sword at my throat ... I never stopped wanting him. At first, when *they* took me and humiliated me, I pretended that it was Fëanáro who took me. Maybe that's why I can’t now -I don’t want your delicacy.

 

“You better than anyone know that I never denied you”, he declares hoarsely.

 

With an effort, I contain the urge to go to him. I know. A part of me still knows. A part of me still shudders with the memory of his mouth finding mine in the tent after Alqualondë, of our hands stained with blood tearing clothes, of our bodies meeting in the middle of the guilt and the despair - mine - of the rage and madness - his...

 

“Of course you did not”, I smile as I learned to do it in Valinor, only for his benefit. “Abandoning me to die or crawling back to the Valar was just another proof of your brotherly love.”  
“That's something I've never been able to feel when it comes to you”, he confesses and I think I can smell his desire in the cold air that sneaks into the bedroom.

 

True. When I was a child, it hurt me to death that Fëanáro showed Findis some appreciation while for me he only reserved rudeness and ridicule; but as I became a teenager, his reactions to me changed along with my body. Pain hits me so hard that I close my eyes. My body. In the end, also for Fëanáro, I am just that: _a beautiful thing to possess and subdue._

I gasp as I feel the embrace that closes around my torso and blindly, I try to free myself; but the bitterness seems to have drained all my strength. Oh All’s Father! I just want him to leave me alone once and for all.

Instead of yielding to my struggles, Fëanáro looks for my mouth, insistent, chasing me every time I twist -until he sinks a hand in my loose hair and pulls to force me to stay still. He does not kiss me fully; on the contrary, his breath warms my lips without touching me.

 

“I love when you resist me”, he smiles, sliding the tip of the tongue around the edge of my tight mouth.” When you challenge me. Every time you faced me in Tirion, I could only think about taking you. Take you in front of everyone - that they knew you belonged to me - _that you belong to me ..._ ”  
“I am not a thing”, I growled, furious, remembering that a while ago I shouted that he was my owner.  
“But you're mine”, he declares, his voice a low sensual roar before his lips crash against mine and his tongue rams in my mouth, wildly.

 

I fought. I do not know if I debate to let go or to piss him off; but the moment he loosens the pressure of his mouth, I wrap my tongue around his and suck, determined, imitating the movements I would do if it were his cock. He roars in my mouth, with certainty recalling all the times that I knelt at his feet in the forge and took him to my throat. It’s a glorious memory: Fëanáro - _proud Fëanáro Þerindion_ \- undone in my hands, trembling with ecstasy and impotence, moaning my name, begging for relief ... and then kissing my mouth desperately to savor himself.

I slide a hand between our bodies and find his rigid cock. I caress him mercilessly, pushing so hard to the base that I feel his contractions of pain and pleasure.

 

“You’re a beast”, he gasps, throwing his head back until his tense neck is a tempting arch in which I sink my teeth.  
“A cruel beast!” he moans, thrusting my hand so hard that I think I will tear the skin.  
"Cruel and beautiful," he says more hoarsely, digging his fingers into my buttocks. I regain the rhythm in his member (beautiful, powerful, exquisite) “Ah Nolvo! Harder, love.”

 

As soon as the request escapes from his lips, I slow the pace, loosening the grip until I barely touch him. I stand to watch him shake, unsatisfied.

"Bastard," he grunts and confronts me, grabbing both sides of my head, grabbing handfuls of my straight hair. He does not kiss me: he bites my mouth with the ferocity of a worg and I gasp when the blood moistens my chin. He licks with his mouth all open, as slowly as I masturbate him. “Son of bitch, you're enjoying it”, he says. “If you're not going to do it right, then let me shove it back into you.”

 

I do not answer him, just stick my tongue out to lick his lips and his chin. For some reason, the skin is rough under my tongue and sends a chill down my spine. What the hell has reincarnation done with my half-brother? Now his teeth catch my tongue while his hands move greedily on my back and my ass. I'm as hard as he is ... even more, and an uncomfortable tingle crawls from my scrotum to my cock ... and my sphincter. I drop to my knees and before he can make any comment, I guide his erection to my mouth.

 

“Shit!” He gasps over me, leaning momentarily to immediately back off, breathing hard.

 

Fëanáro's cock fills my mouth. I surround it with my right hand at the base while with the other drawing spirals on his hip and his butt. I feel how he tenses. His fingers are entangled in my hair, playing with my ears, looking for support as he controls himself not to ram into my throat. It's huge. Even when it can’t match an ainu - no elda or edain could - my half-brother's cock is thick and long, and it makes me wonder how the hell it can fit all that inside me. It’s beautiful too; a beautiful cock, curving slightly upward at the tip, a tone softer than his brown skin; but darker than mine. I retire until I only hold between my lips the blunt head, smooth and hot. I press with my tongue, touching the frenulum, tasting the salty taste. My teeth lightly touch the edge of the glans and Fëanáro meows so loudly that I think they will have heard him in the same Taniquetil. I take it with a blow until the tip touches my throat and purr without releasing it, sending avid shudders through my brother's sex until he arches and guides me to take it deeper, faster ... again and again.

The first drops of pre-cum spill on my tongue. Glori-o-usss. I wrap his cock with my tongue and firmly, I throw myself back.

 

“What the fuck ...?” barks Fëanáro when I let him go and I stand with agility, sneaking out of his hands.

 

I walk away with light steps, ignoring my own excitement; but, I can’t contain the impulse to look over my shoulder to see his thrusting and hungry penis ... and his exquisite expression of rage.

 

“Nolofinwë ...” he roars hoarsely, in open threat.

 

I release a mocking laugh and go to the bed, turning my back, challenging him. I climb slowly, making a show to settle between the pillows, legs wide open, giving him a full view of my cock standing on the abdomen and my testicles clenched with excitement.

Breath raises Fëanáro's broad chest wildly and his eyes shine madly. Yes -I savor the smell of his furious lust. I throw my head back as I slide a hand down my belly, close to my dick, until I touch the scrotum. A low moan escapes my parted lips and through the weight of my eyelashes, I see him pounce on me.

His hands pinned me to the mattress, as if they wanted to break me and I hissed fighting against the pain. His mouth assails mine and I shudder violently. The violence of his caresses takes my desire to unsuspected levels. I feel the drip of his cock on my thigh, on my belly and when his hands purposely evade the slot between my buttocks, I float in the wonderful realization that he will penetrate me without any preparation. Oh yes, Fëanáro! My body sings, anticipating the torture, the punishment ... I return the brutality of his closeness, moaning in his mouth, my cock pulsing raw among us ... Lost in the expectation of possession that will break my last barriers, I ignore the moment when Fëanáro leaves my bruised mouth and my bitten neck to descend.

I open my eyes, panting in bewilderment and the hot humidity engulfs my sex easily. I sit up on my elbows to see his head coming down on me and when my treacherous cock trembles at the touch of his throat, I grow helpless.

 

“No!” I scream, kicking him away from me. “Not like that, Fëanáro! I want you inside me!” I demand, grabbing him by the hair, scratching his ears and cheeks.

 

He ignores me. His hands handcuff my wrists to the bed with supernatural strength, turning thumbs and cordial into shackles while his index fingers caress the inside of my forearms. But I keep struggling, debating like a wild animal, resisting the heat that invades my insides and pulls my scrotum.

 

“Please”, I beg, almost sobbing, desperate to understand that he is denying me the only thing that keeps me sane. “Please, brother; not that way. Don’t make me ...”

 

I groan at full voice, leaving my throat stinging. But he does not give up. His mouth rises and falls, traversing my entire length, relaxing the muscles of his throat to take me deeper. His teeth scrape every millimeter of tense flesh and his tongue presses until I feel the first signs of my enjoyment spilling. With a cry of impotence, I shake one last time; but his whole body seizes my thighs and my legs, and his hands are still in mine, and his mouth ... Oh Eru, _his mouth!_ I arch up until my back takes off from the bed and hell roars in my chest when liquid fire is unleashed from my insides.

 

Ohheavensohfather damnyouCurufinwëdamnyouathousandgloriouslydelicioustimes  
your mouththeworldisgoingtotearmeapartincoherentcrazy ImoanIcryIcurseIsob  
andthewholeuniverseturnsthetimemycockinsideofmeshuddersinhis throat  
Ifeelsemenhowsuckfillhismouth  
thatmouth  
CurufinwëbrotherFëanáromasterCurufinwëloverFëanáro

 

I float out of my body. Through heavy eyelids, I see the way he finishes licking my half-soft sex before standing up. The movement of his throat to swallow sends coursing through my body. His eyes are black when he looks at my face and my eyes descend to his rigid sex. Slowly, he moves over me to position himself parallel to my face. Fëanáro holds in his left arm and knees on both sides of my hips. His right hand draws a line of passion from my bloodless cock to my parted lips and with a defeated sigh, I lick his fingers before he carries them to his crotch. I drop my eyes: his cock trembles to my pelvis while he surrounds it and masturbates roughly. It's a wonderful image and I want to beg him to end up in my mouth, thirsty for his cum; but Fëanáro snarls a curse and the first spurt of semen shoots against my skin. I see his eyelids fall as he moans scandalously, claiming me, cursing me, flattering me ... The volume of his come makes me stir up uneasily, anxious and before I know what I do, I grab him by the hips and lift my pelvis to find him. I have no idea how but an earthquake of ecstasy convulses my limbs and my penis joins the dance of liquid shots between our bellies.

 

The kiss of Fëanáro takes me off guard while we both continue ejaculating in an absurd way. His kiss is delicate, tender and I allow myself to capitulate in it. We don’t separate when the caress ends. I throw my arms around his neck, gently touching his torso, delighting in the lightness with which his lips and nose brush my cheek, and I answer him identically.

 

When he finally walks away, I stop him firmly. Our eyes meet.

 

“Why?” I demand. _Why didn’t you take me how I asked you. Why didn’t you fuck me like the trash that I am. Why didn’t you punish me. Why did you give me pleasure when I only deserve pain._

 

He slides the tip of a finger through my left eyebrow - the one that I split when I was a child and filled Amil's whole tunic with blood; I remember Fëanáro’s frightened expression when he saw my bloodied face, the fierceness with which he tore me from my mother's lap to cleanse me in despair ... and I know the answer before he says it.

 

“You are my most valuable treasure, Nolvo. I lost you once. **I lost you.** ”  
“I am no treasure”, I reply, rebelling against the feeling that floods my chest. I cannot allow it. I cannot afford the hope. We are at war and times of war are not for such delicate pleasures. “I'm not something valuable to protect, Curufinwë. You can’t -I don’t deserve to someone have compassion on me.”  
“You are truly foolish if you think that this is compassion”, he sketches a crooked smile. “And I have for you just what you deserve, Nolofinwë. I love you.” He rubs my bottom lip with his thumb. “I can fuck you like a wild beast -I want to do it, by Eru’s balls. But I also want to make love to you. I want you to surrender to me. Without fear. Without my body being an instrument of punishment. I want you to want me, to open your heart ...”

 

A shudder shakes my insides. My whole body burns, reacting to his words. In all the years, since I was little more than twenty years old and Fëanáro surprised me by masturbating in my room, he had never spoken to me in this way. Not even in those almost ... idyllic times, before Melkor's lies germinated among us, Fëanáro had shown more than lust towards me.

 

I close my eyes and twist my fingers in his hair, scraping the back of his neck lightly. He presses closer to me as I feel the brush of his mouth on the curve of my jaw. Once again, the images parade behind my eyelids.

 

_"Run," whispers the mocking voice in my ears. I turn around as I hear the howls getting closer and closer. The bottom of the corridor is in shadow and I can barely perceive the movement that indicates life. Life in search of mine. I evoke the first time I played this game: Sauron released his dire wolves after me and ordered me to run; arrogant like every son of Finwë, I just stood there, erect, bravely waiting for the wolves to end my life. "Do not tear out his genitals," said the Lieutenant; "They are difficult to replace". And the Wuargos obeyed while tearing each section of my body and Melkor laughed. The next time I tried to fight; the third, I flee ... maybe this time I can hide._

 

“Do you know what Sauron liked most?” I perceive the rigidity of his body, the anger that burns beneath his skin. “Suck me off. After everyone finished with me, when I was so devastated that I could barely breathe, he took me to his rooms and repaired me. Once again I looked like an elda, Sauron took his reward. Unlike his master ... and the others, he preferred to have me in private, where no one could see him on his knees before me, sucking and licking my cock.” I don’t open my eyes and I feel his breathing heavy, fast, almost like the rattle of a beast that is preparing to attack. “He never allowed me to do it to him: unlike Melkor, he did not risk leaving his vulnerable parts within reach of anyone else. However, he enjoyed taking me that way. He was ... skillful. It was the only time I did not ... but it also felt like rape. A worse violation because for a few minutes I -I enjoyed, and it was not just my body that was used. I hate Sauron more than Melkor.” Finally I raise my eyelids and stare at him. “Melkor never managed to touch my fëa.”

 

Fëanáro frees himself from my embrace and jumps out of bed with a cry of anguish. I think he understands ... and somewhere in me, old Nolofinwë - the one who forgave the sword in his chest, the one who held out his hand in open reconciliation, the one who swore "thou shalt lead and I will follow", the one who ran to face the Teleri in Alqualondë, the one who crossed the Helcaraxë to be reunited with his older brother, the one who received with open arms the broken body of his nephew - cries for the wound he causes to the person he has loved the most.

 

“You cannot compare me to him”, he roars, turning in front of me, fists clenched on both sides of his body, eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t want to hurt you, Nolofinwë. I want your heart to take care of it. I would never harm you ...”

 

He breaks off and I see in his face that he understands. 

 

 _You have already done it_ , I murmur in my mind. _You have hurt me more than Sauron ever could. He did not owe me anything; on the other hand, you -You, Fëanáro._

 

For the first time I see him defeated: his shoulders sink under the weight of guilt and he closes his eyelids with force. Tears slide down his cheeks and once again I experience that pain that destroys my soul more than the claws of the Valaraukos.

 

“Sorry “, he whispers so low that I'm sure I hear it in my head. 

 

Slowly, he returns to my side and kneels beside the bed. Instinctively, I spread my hands and stroked his hair. 

 

“I love you, Nolofinwë. I have always loved you. Even before it was ... right to love you. I never considered you my brother because - because I need you this way. I need you be mine.” He kisses my knees, so slight that I doubt I have felt it. “A part of me always -always hated what you made me feel, knowing that this feeling makes me a monster and that I was perverting you by seducing you. You did not love me -you do not love me in the same way, Nolvo; and I -But I love you. And I can wait.”He lifts up his face to contemplate me with a light of hope in those wonderful eyes of silver and obsidian. I hold my breath, marveled and he smiles as he caresses my chin. “I can wait all eternity for you to give me a chance –to give us an opportunity. I can make you happy. I can make you enjoy this –that you long for the tenderness and passion that I have for you. I can cleanse your hroa and your fëa from those memories; I can erase them with my love ... but only if you let me.”  
“Curufinwë ...”  
“Hush, my love”, he puts the forefinger on my parted lips and gets up a little to get close to my face. “I will wait. I have learned to have patience. All those centuries in Mandos have taught me something”, he smiles mockingly. “You know that I want you, that all the time I'm hungry for you; but for you ... for you, I'll wait. I will win your love, Nolofinwë.” He kisses me softly. “This time, I'll take care of you.”

 

Emotions boil inside me: fear, desire, despair, longing, shame ... love?

 

“I can’t trust you, Curufinwë”, I say, my voice a breath of icy air. “Not anymore -Not again, Curufinwë. I can only think that my confidence in you led me to ... this.” I open my arms, eloquent.

 

His gaze travels a second. There are hardly any traces left in my body of Angband's tortures; but my brother's eyes are stuck in mine ... and I know he sees the real scars.

 

“I love this that you have become”; he replies without hesitation. “I love the strength of your spirit, Nolofinwë.”  
“Strength?” I make fun of myself. “No elda survives rape: because they can abandon their hroa at will! They prefer death to humiliation, and **I wanted to live**!”  
“That's what I love about you!”Fëanáro embraces me passionately, breathing agitated. “You ... you did not give up. You did not abandon. You want to live. **Live!** You did not stop looking for me when I turned away from you. You did not get away from me when I attacked you. You did not turn your back on my madness. You did not back down when I abandoned you in Araman. You did not stop when I died. You were not scared when Nelyo offered you the crown. You did not shrink when you faced our enemy. You did not die when you were imprisoned, tortured, raped ... again and again. You are here: alive, resilient, ready to continue. You lost your children and you did not go mad. You -you did not give up. For those you love, you did not give up.”

 

Míriel. For the first time I understand what he never admitted: that he was furious with her for surrendering. I was also furious with Míriel most of my life: because of her weakness, everything had been screwed up in Finwë’s life. And then I see the pain that Fëanáro always hid from everyone: that his mother did not love him enough to live for him.

 

I let my breath out and lean down to kiss him kindly.

 

“For you, I will go to the Void and return.” I admit. “I did not take your damn oath. I don’t care about those shiny stones. However, for you ... for your blood, for your children ...” A grimace curves my mouth down. “For _almost all your children_ ... I would descend again to Angband ... _hanónya_. I may not trust you -not be able to love you as you want -but I will never leave you if it depends on me.”

 

We kissed. Out of pure instinct, we find each other halfway and our tongues get tangled, sinuous, while our naked bodies fit like perfect pieces. Maybe the Valar are wrong - they are definitely wrong - and the natural path of the Eldar is not marriage and procreation; but ... pleasure.

 

“It's enough”, he smiles. “For now it's enough ... my beauty. I will win your love.”  
“I don’t believe…”  
“You know me. I always get what I want.”

 

I shut up. I do not want to argue now. I am tired and all my wounds - spiritual and psychic - sting, and I suspect that also his. He caresses my temple, putting my hair behind my ear and I see the darkness in his eyes. We have both undressed too painful secrets and right now I do not need more weight in my heart. Or in his. I think for a day I got too much vulnerability from Fëanáro Þerindion. I also always get what I want.

 

“We should go down to eat something.” I suggest, playing with his hair.  
“Can I cook for you?” He gets excited like a kid. Sometimes I forget how much my son looks like him. As Maitimo looks like me. Maybe that's why it's natural for our children to meet.

“I would love to. It have been millennia since nobody cares for me”, I lie with aplomb. It goes without saying that Atarinkë can cook as well as he does, or that Macalaurë could spend hours and hours just to distracting me from my duties as a king…

 

I accompany him as we get dressed. He holds me in his arms when we reach the door and he kisses me.

 

“You will be mine”, he promises, excited. “And nobody will harm you again.”  
“Not even you?” I challenge him, sarcastic.  
“I'll kill myself before I make you suffer again, elenya.” He swears solemnly. “Not even me. Not even yourself. I will protect you from everything and everyone. I will go to the Void and I will return for you. And you ... you will love me at last.”  
“We'll see”, I rise an eyebrow. “We'll see how long your patience lasts ... Narya.”

 

I feel the shudder that runs through him when I give him the name I used millennia ago, when he took me to his bed. For the first time I realize how easy it is to manipulate the emotions of my older brother, and I see why it was so easy for Melkor to turn against us. I smile and stroke his lips.

 

“We can eat later”, I adventure.  
“Y-yes”. For a moment, he hesitates in my caresses; but with a deep inspiration, he moves away. “I need to learn to take care of you, Nolvo. Again. I need to learn to have patience with you. For our own sake, I will learn to control my craving for you. Now, to feed you.”

I allow him to take me by the hand and guide me out of the bedroom. I breathe hard, filling my lungs with the scent of his sex on my skin. No, it does not look like love at all; but I could get to like it. From time to time I could give him what he wants, and in return, Fëanáro will give me everything I want. An unexpected fear squeezes my chest: am I more valuable than those damned silmarils? I guess I'll have to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there.
> 
> As I said, there are many AUs that involves these two in my head.
> 
> This, specifically, was meant to be a longer story; but neither time nor patience I have to write it complete. So, some details to understand the background of the story:
> 
> 1- Fingolfin was imprisoned by Morgoth and kept as a prisoner and pet in Angband. After the War of Wrath - and the defeat of Morgoth - Sauron kept Fingolfin among his possessions, maybe even using him during the War of the Ring (in my head, it's Fingolfin who recognizes Celebrimbor and kills him so that Sauron doesn't continue torturing him). After the defeat of Sauron, Fingolfin remains in the hands of his human allies, who use it as a source of magic and power perhaps?
> 
> 2- After the combat between Fingolfin and Morgoth, somehow the version where Thorondor brought the body of the Elf King to Gondolin is spread. Fingon believes this version while Turgon thinks that his father was buried by Fingon. And ... the legend grows to be considered the truth.
> 
> 3- Someone (probably Námo and Gandalf, I consider them the intriguants of my versions) free those who remain in Mandos to prepare an army for DD. It's not clear to me who rescued Fingolfin from his human captors; but it was probably someone of themselves who felt sorry for the elf.
> 
> Finally, if someone feels like using these ideas in a fic, you're welcome to do so. I'll try to concentrate on 'I kála hendelyato' and 'Paradise's flowers'.
> 
> If you liked it, let me know. Comment please: I love comments.


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